It didn't happen slowly for Michonne.
It was more of how she imagined the Big Bang would of happened or when God had said let there be light - with a big crash that put everything in it's rightful place.
She recalled, often in the middle of the night, that the feeling had placed itself between her DNA when they had locked eyes as she had stumbled outside the prison fence.
Michonne never liked to think about how the pain had subsided right at that moment.
It was like admitting something she didn't want to admit.
That she couldn't comprehend.
And she hated the way the feeling spiked back up at the most random and illogical moments.
For example, when she saw Rick lift up something heavy in the sun that drew every last bit of sweat from his body and his veins pressed against his skin.
Something inside her ignited and wondered how it would feel to be pressed against his skin, or how tangy it would taste between her teeth, or how much he could take before he needed to go home and rest.
Home.
She'd never confess to loving the word.
For many reasons. Mainly because when she thought of it now, a feeling of betrayal would sit on her shoulders.
But...but, there was still a warm feeling that found her chest when she did.
When she whispered it into Judith's ear when Carl was upstairs and Rick was taking a shower.
When she was cooking and Carl scrunched up his nose, but still shovelled down whatever she placed in front of him.
When Rick's hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed it, reassuring her that he was there and she was good and that they were both okay.
And sometimes her heart stopped.
Because if you lived around Rick Grimes long enough, you'd become sensitive to the times he phased out of the moment. His eyes would glaze over and he would rub Judith's back with less affection, like a robot. However - and this is the part that stopped her heart beating for a earth-shattering minute - the grey clouds would part from his eyes and he would smile when he looked at her. Only her.
She had learnt to quickly become a distraction when he phase out, clearing her throat or scraping her shoes against the floor so he would be forced to look in her direction and smile.
He never said what he started to think about in those moments, but she was sure she knew and she was sure she didn't want him to talk about it. Michonne was well aware of the ache that resulted from talking about the past.
Sometimes the things he done killed her.
Seeing the way he kissed Judith's head and cupped it with his hands killed her.
The way he protected Carl - sometimes a little too much - killed her.
When he decided to argue with her and then bite his bottom lip, irritated at her defiant ways killed her.
And she had liked him with stubble.
And without stubble.
And with a full beard (that she had often imagined scratching against her skin whilst he kissed her softly).
And she liked his hands and the work that they did and how soft they felt whenever their hands grasped each other's in a desperate attempt to remind the other that the other was here, and alive, and all was okay.
And it all killed her.
It was okay, Michonne breathed, as she watched Rick in the chair opposite to her.
She smirked at the way his head kept dropping in sync with his eyelids and how he seemed adamant to stay awake.
'Go to sleep Rick.' She whispered and received a groan in return.
Rick groaned again at the sound of Michonne's feet walking away from him, 'Where are you going?'
She let the silence answer him as she dashed upstairs and walked into his room, quickly grabbing the crumpled covers and bringing them down with her. Slowly, she placed the covers on top of him and ran a hand through his hair.
'Being a Grimes' must be hard work. Both you and Carl have the same habit. Can't wait to see it in Judith later on.' As she tucked the corners around his growing stubble, she felt the small breath from the chuckle that he released at her comment touch her arm.
'You are so good Michonne.' Rick whispered sleepily. 'Thank you. I know I don't say it much, but yeah... I'm just tired...'
Letting a laugh escape her lips she rubbed her thumb across his stubble, while cupping just under his chin. 'I'll see you in the morning.'
Then she kissed him.
On the forehead. It was almost instinctual, too comfortable to not be genuine and from somewhere deep within her... and that's what made the fear grab her throat.
And she saw the way his eyebrow raised and how he suppressed the smile on his lips.
Then she excused herself, despite feeling the loose grasp of his tired fingers on her arm when she started pulling away in a rush.
And she pressed her back against the wall that now separated them, and she heard his light snore, and felt the burns where his fingertips had tried to bring her back.
It all fell.
Then it all came together.
She knew.
He was the soft light that entered the window and made the dust - the shitty dust that in this scenario may as well have been all the anger and sadness she had felt - sparkle and shine.
He was the soft breeze in the damn heat of the day.
He was the feeling she felt when she held Andre and held Judith and brushed Carl's hair as he fell asleep on her lap.
She loved him.
She loved him.
And when God had said let there be light, she was sure he had poured most of it into Rick Grimes.